


gouge away

by cheinsaw



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: (guts), Blood and Violence, F/M, Married Couple, Video Game Mechanics, consensual stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheinsaw/pseuds/cheinsaw
Summary: Brynhildr and Sigurd reunite at Chaldea.





	gouge away

**Author's Note:**

> ty to my girlfriend for betaing this. their cat didn't like it. i hope you like it more than their cat did.
> 
> (come talk to me on twitter @tenhimi if you do)

It's early in the morning when Ritsuka summons him. Ritsuka wakes up right after the sun rises nowadays—there is still so much to do, even now. She has a good feeling about today, though, and her intuition is rarely wrong. So: it is early morning when Sigurd comes to Chaldea, to the small warmth settled in a remote, frozen wasteland.

The second he says his True Name, Ritsuka knows. This is the Sigurd that Brynhildr has so often spoken of. The husband she longs to murder, and yet still pines for. The one all her breathless _i love you_s on the battlefield are directed towards, however far away in space and time he may be.

Ah, but now he is here, right here, as alive as a Servant can be, standing tall before Ritsuka with his glowing sword in hand.

"Hmm," he says. Ritsuka wishes she could read his expression, but his face is fully covered by a mask. "She's here, isn't she? Brynhildr."

"Well—" da Vinci starts (and Ritsuka is infinitely grateful that someone besides herself will field such a loaded question), but she's quickly cut off before she can even begin.

There's a rapid, urgent tapping on the door. "Um," a voice calls out, sounding worried and flustered. Ritsuka recognizes it right away as Brynhildr. "Master, please let me in..."

Ritsuka looks at the closed door, then back at her circle. Sigurd gives her a nod. They both know what comes next.

"Master, please, _ Sigurd, _my husband—" Brynhildr sounds absolutely desperate, like she'll collapse any moment. When Ritsuka slides the door open, Brynhildr brushes past her as quick and light as a breeze, her heart-tipped spear at her side. For a split second Ritsuka worries that perhaps this was a mistake, but before she can react the weapon clatters to the floor and vanishes.

"My love," Sigurd says, beckoning to her as his own sword dematerializes.

"My dear," Brynhildr replies, and throws her arms around his neck. Her face presses firmly into his shoulder; his arms circle her waist. Neither moves, embracing motionlessly.

Ritsuka exchanges a look with da Vinci. "Uh," she starts, seeing da Vinci's expression of bemusement. "I can get you guys a room if... you'd... like?"

It's as if neither of them hear her. Sigurd begins to stroke Brynhildr's hair in one armored hand, running his fingers all the way down her back. Brynhildr, in turn, murmurs something Ritsuka can't understand, to which Sigurd replies in the same tongue.

"Old Norse," da Vinci says quietly. "We should probably leave them be for a little, don't you think?"

Ritsuka nods vigorously. To be fair she can't think of anything else to do; she knows from experience that it's a mistake to interrupt a lovers' reunion. Despite all she's done, she cannot overpower a Valkyrie.

She'll come back, she decides, and quietly takes her leave.

Lying on the floor of Chaldea's summoning room, Brynhildr rests her head on her husband's chest, drinking in the soft sound of his hollow Servant heartbeat. She still clings to him desperately, as if he might disappear at any moment, but with each pulse she is soothed more and more.

"Sigurd," Brynhildr breathes, "Sigurd, Sigurd, my dearest."

"Brynhildr," Sigurd replies, sweet as honey, weaving locks of Brynhildr's hair through his fingers.

"Dear, let me see your face, please."

"Anything for you." The mask comes off, and Brynhildr feels her legs weaken as her eyes meet Sigurd's. Yes, this is it—each time she looks at him, over and over, she's sure. This is the person with whom she's meant to spend her eternity.

She trails one gentle hand along the side of his face, cupping his jaw. "Ah," she says, feeling the prickle of newly-grown stubble against her palm. "Sigurd." It seems his name is all she can manage, and yet he understands her perfectly.

"Yes," he says. "When the Grail calls us... I'm sure you know."

She does. Brynhildr herself is no stranger to the idea of choosing to be summoned with a particular appearance. Not that it would matter to her; Sigurd is Sigurd. And Brynhildr is Brynhildr, ever his beloved.

_ Beloved— _

She will have to kill him; she knows this. Even now, in this peaceful moment, the curse deep within her bones is begging her to kill him, kill him, kill him.

_ Just a minute longer, _ she silently begs. _ I can endure it just a minute, for him. _Just one more minute, then another, then another after that.

"Brynhildr," Sigurd says, reaching out to touch her face. "You are shaking."

"I have to kill you," she whispers, the slightest tremor in her voice betraying her and making its way through.

"I know," Sigurd says. He still looks at her with nothing but affection. "Brynhildr. Please, go ahead and kill this one, if that is what you must do."

"I don't…" There's so much she wants: more time, an end to the violence that binds her. Sigurd, Sigurd's safety. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I know," he repeats. "Please, don't worry, my love."

Brynhildr makes a choked noise and kisses him. It's all she can think to do, and it may be all she can get. Sigurd kisses back, holding her close. For all the changes since they both became Servants, he still tastes just the same.

Her body screams in pain, forcing her to pull back and stagger to her feet. The darkness bubbles up in her throat—he must suffer, he must die. Sigurd nods once and silently opens his arms for her.

With trembling hands, Brynhildr points her spear at her husband's chest, and drives it forward. Sigurd groans, and blood quickly darkens the front of his shirt. Brynhildr draws her weapon back, then: the horrible thing inside her is finally sated upon seeing Sigurd with a fatal wound by her own hand.

He grunts, heaves, spits out blood. Shining gold flecks appear at his chest, shimmering against his body, dancing in the air around him, the sure sign of a Servant at their limit.

"I'm sorry," Brynhildr breathes, dropping to her knees and pulling Sigurd's body into her lap. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"I will endure it for you," he manages. Weakly, he reaches out to her, and cups her face in one hand. "I told you."

"Dear—"

"What about you? Are _ you _ alright?"

She doesn't know. The gnawing ache inside her is gone, replaced with worry and panic and dread. She opens her mouth, closes it, shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts.

"Please just… stay," he says.

"I never want to leave," she whispers back.

Lying on the floor of Chaldea's summoning room, Sigurd rests his head in his wife's lap, clinging desperately to any shred of consciousness he can muster. Brynhildr strokes his hair, pressing her hand to his warm forehead and murmuring soft, soothing words. His eyes are closed, but his chest still rises and falls. It is only after several minutes of this that Brynhildr realizes: if he were going to succumb to her spear, he would have done so by now.

Brynhildr is not allowed to hope. But she can pray. She can pray that her great father will allow her to be with Sigurd, just this once—that, as selfish as it is, that Sigurd will stay, alive, by her side.

"I love you," she murmurs, and begins to cry.

When Brynhildr regains her bearings and wipes the tears from her eyes, she forces herself to look at Sigurd. He's still soaked in dark blood, but he doesn't seem to be dead. Brynhildr holds her breath in disbelief as she watches him. His Spirit Origin knits itself back together, the gold glow at his chest gradually fading until his wound disappears—almost like it had never existed at all.

Sigurd opens his eyes (bright, vivid, blue) and stares up at Brynhildr. "How's that?" he says, and Brynhildr dives forward to kiss him again.

Later, they will laugh about it, when Mash finds the blood cold on the floor and Ritsuka has to hurriedly explain that everything is fine. Brynhildr will rest her head on Sigurd's shoulder as they lie together, finally content. For once, the dull ache in her soul is gone, the hole in her heart filled.

Finally—she is a woman at peace.  



End file.
